McGonagall's Secret
by Zirconiafire
Summary: After a terrible experience, McGonagall tries to find some way to cope. Rated T to be safe- possible imagery


**A/N: This is a little oneshot I came up with a while ago. It's a lot angstier than I'm used to writing/reading, so I hope I did alright with it. Please let me know what you think, reviews make me extremely happy!**

**Disclaimer: I Don't own Harry Potter! really!**

* * *

><p>McGonagall's Secret<p>

_Breathe, Minerva. In… out…_ Despite her best efforts, the aged witch couldn't stop her breath from coming in gasps as she gripped the railing of the stairs leading from the entrance hall. She had (barely) been able to hold herself together throughout the last hours, but through her worry, and later anger, she had been able to force the horrible images from her mind. Now that Dumbledore had sorted everything out, and no one else was in danger (at the moment, at least), every thought she had been repressing flooded back in painful clarity.

_Voldemort, back- terrifying… Harry Potter, safe -relieved… Cedric Diggory killed -horrible_… The thoughts chased themselves around in Minerva's mind from the moment she heard the Potter boy's story, and the scoundrel, Barty Crouch Jr.'s confession. Of course they were terrible, and of course she was scared, but she was Minerva McGonagall. She grit her teeth and dealt with it because in all honesty, it wasn't much worse than anything she had heard or seen before. She had lived through the dark days of Voldemort's reign, when such things were almost commonplace. Besides, she put all of her trust in Dumbledore. And Potter, she supposed.

When Dumbledore asked her to stand by and watch Barty Crouch, she did so with a cold, indifferent demeanour, but on the inside her thoughts and emotions were running wildly. Still, Dumbledore had given her a job to do so she tried to focus her emotions on her disgust at the traitor and impostor she was guarding. It was easier to do so then to give into her pain.

She remembered when the Minister came in, but not much about what he said or did, because what followed entirely eclipsed whatever thoughts she was having before.

The cold was there. She expected it from the moment _it_ glided through the door. In hindsight, she knew her instincts ought to have kicked in the instant she felt it, that, being the experienced witch that she was, her tabby patronus should have burst from her wand with little conscious thought. She berated herself for it now, but at the time she figured it was forgivable. She barely had any happy thoughts to begin with, what with everything that had happened reeling in her head, and whatever was left was quickly sucked out by the Dementor. It swept past her with surprising speed, but the hem of its hooded cloak was inches from touching her, and it was like her skin had frozen. Her nostrils, once flared in anger, now did so in fear and she could smell its horrid rotting breath wafting over her. She knew what was coming a second before it happened, but nothing could have prepared her for it. The Dementor stopped in front of Barty Crouch, and lifted its hood.

Minerva McGonagall was paralyzed where she stood. She couldn't move a muscle, much less prevent what she knew was about to happen. She had never seen what was underneath a Dementor's hood before, and didn't really know what she was expecting. It was as though she was looking into a black hole, but a million times worse. She was by no stretch of the imagination a coward, but if she could move at all, she knew she would be shielding her eyes at least, if not backing as far away from the creature as possible. The feeling of cold, darkness and despair one usually endured around a Dementor increased immeasurably, as though they emanated directly from the demon's head, or mouth, or whatever the black hole was.

She had always heard that a Dementor 'kissed' a person by sucking out his or her soul through the mouth. In truth, you couldn't tell what it came from, as the next thing she knew, Crouch's entire head had been engulfed by the void in the creature's head. The tiniest part of Minerva's mind that wasn't entirely rife with terror and horror in sharpest detail was now wishing with all of the quickly evaporating strength she had left that she could close her eyes, or faint, or do something. But her body was still acting as though she had seen a basilisk in the mirror, and all she could do was watch helplessly as the man in front of her lost his soul.

In the events that had followed, Minerva was able to keep her feelings in check. Her fury at the minister, first for _destroying_ their testimony, and then at his nerve and presumption to assume that Dumbledore and Potter were inventing their story to somehow 'undermine the ministry' was enough to suppress them. But now, sitting almost curled up in her office chair and reliving everything she had experienced, she felt as though the walls of the office were closing in on her. She had never felt so vulnerable, so torn apart. She wanted to run and hide from the images flooding her mind. And she knew only one way to do that.

Without another thought, she stood up and started walking towards her office door, which she had left open in the absence of mind with which she entered. As she walked, she focused her energy on the transformation she had performed a thousand times before. She felt herself shrinking, her glasses and cloak disappearing, and short fur covering her body a she dropped down on all fours. She slipped silently through the open door, and started running down the corridor. She would usually keep to the shadows, but today, she didn't think she could handle any more darkness. For that reason, she refused to take any of her usual shortcuts through passageways behind tapestries (did the students really think only they knew about them?) and it took her a little longer to get to the entrance hall. Eventually she reached it and ran straight towards the wall leading to the castle grounds. She got to a large, slightly discoloured brick and without hesitating, ran straight through it. She had bewitched this particular brick to allow her passage in situations such as these. Not that she'd had nearly as extreme a need to get outside in the past, of course. She internally cringed at the momentary coldness and darkness of running through the wall but then, finally, she was outside, reveling in the warm, fresh air.

She felt incredibly calm compared to a few minutes ago in her office. There was something about letting her feline instincts take over that always brought her mind comfort, almost as if she was born to be a cat. For once she was able to let go of all the bad thoughts (for the time being, at least) and actually allow herself to be grateful. Not for her horrible experiences, she didn't see any way to be thankful for _that_. But because with time, she would be able to recover, whereas Barty Crouch, tyrant as he was, would not.

She wandered over to the large hill that overlooked the lake, where the sun was slowly illuminating the grounds as it steadily rose. She sat down in the golden grass and stared directly into the orange glow peering out from behind the treetops of the Forbidden Forest. She willed the sun's heat and light to wash over her body and penetrate her mind, clearing out the evil memories of the past hours. Yes, she reflected, the future looked grim, there was no denying that. But she had to be strong for the many that looked up to her and counted on her. She knew that when she went back to the castle, she would be the fierce, proud, determined Minerva McGonagall once more. But she was content to rest here in the peace of the new day, just a little longer.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Yay, happy-ish ending! I can never end a story in angst, I really do infinitely prefer fluff. So... Review?**


End file.
